


The Exile

by Happyorogeny



Series: The Illidari [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Grieving, Illusions, Mentioned Injury, Violence, combat aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 15:42:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13767291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happyorogeny/pseuds/Happyorogeny
Summary: The Illidari discover a lost companion in Felwood.





	The Exile

Feronas was alive. Kayn set the letter down and took a deep breath. 

“Content to live in exile?” Kor'vas put her hands on her hips. “Those self-righteous, condescending-!”

“How many of us escaped the sundering of the Temple and tried to return home, only to meet death on Sentinal spears?” Even Jace was upset. When Jace was upset, everyone else was hysterical. 

“Enough!” Kayn flapped onto the table and warbled, his voice cutting through the general outcry and leaving silence. 

For the most part, demon hunters abandoned their previous race and class. The Rebirth was a formative experience and few of them liked to talk about their past. They were as one, even if some of them were too tall.

But times like this, the contrast was thrown onto sharp relief. Sin'dorei regretted what their demon hunter cousins had done, but by and large accepted their decision and dedication to protecting Azeroth by any means necessary.

The Kaldorei…tended to react very poorly indeed. After the sundering of the Temple, Kayn suspected they had lost a good thirty fighters to the night elves. Some of it had been indirect, Illidari falling to the dangers of the road because they were too afraid to return to the forest. Some of it had been active hostility. Only yesterday Jace had had to hold Marius back from mauling a priestess who’d called him an abomination in the eyes of Elune. 

Most of those who had escaped the wardens and survived the lost years were Sin'dorei. They made up almost two thirds of the Illidari forces. The Kaldorei who had returned to them were those who had hidden themselves very thoroughly in the wildness. 

And now some damnable huntress who’d never set foot outside the forest in her life was writing to them, months after their escape, telling them as an afterthought that Feronas was still alive. One of the first hunters, blessed with an eidetic memory and the ability to share his demonic sight.

Feronas was brave and cunning in combat, but he had never fared well on solitary missions. He suffered badly from loneliness and sorrow. How many years had he dwelled alone in an unwelcoming forest?

Content to live in exile, indeed. Smart enough to stay at a safe distance more like.

A hundred green eyes focused on him, waiting. 

“Sevis, Calia.” They’d been close friends of Feronas and fought well as a team. This extraction could well turn violent. He started as Lord Illidan landed behind him and turned to bow quickly. 

“Who is it?”

“Feronas, mi’lord.”

“He returned to Felwood, didn’t he?” Their Master seemed…almost amused. “Marius, have your warlock open a portal.”

…

Feronas had to drag himself back to his clearing. The shape shifting demons had put up a fair fight, bashing in his left knee and wrenching his wings so badly he could barely feel them. But nonetheless they were dead. The upper forests of Felwood dripped with their blood.

He could barely stand and descended the cliffs slowly. The rain started when he was only half-way home, rendering his handholds slick and dangerous. 

He wanted to shriek in protest. But no. Such thoughts were the demon. He would not scream, he would not rend and tear. He would endure. He would remember.

Kor’vas’s favourite colour had been pink. Kayn was fond of white wine, not red. Asha had knitted a woolen square for every demon she killed and presented random hunters with a patchwork quilt every couple of weeks. Allari liked tacky jewellery and hot coffee. Izal went mute went stressed and often preferred to communicate by hand signals.

He slipped the last few yards and landed with a thump that made his injured knee fold. A whine forced its way out of his throat. He covered his head with his wings and waited for his body to heal.

Falara loved those red flowers that tasted like fire. Tylus had been a test pilot for goblin rockets. Sevis always slept in late. Calia had some dreadful herbal remedy for every ailment. Lord Illidan could bring them back from the dead, if they weren’t too far gone.

_Remember._

He stiffened at the scent of nightsaber and looked up, splashing onto all fours. Two Sentinels running their patrol on the road. He had to struggle to hold back a snarl. Yes, running the roads would help when the Legion set fire to the sky!

They looked away from him rather than admitting the reality of his existence. Traditional Kaldorei shunning.

Some thanks for ridding them of the demon druid.

They hadn’t come to help after the demon attack that killed his family. His hamlet had burned and no one came. He had lain trapped under the support beam of the temple, pinned in his own blood, feeling death approach in crushing increments. It had been Lord Illidan that dug through the rubble, his all-seeing eyes spotting a heartbeat buried under the rocks. He remembered it well, a sudden burst of light and his conviction that Elune had come for him. A hand reaching for him. 

The Kaldorei would have Illidan forgotten, would have the demon hunters forgotten.

But he lived and he remembered.

The rain hammered down upon his back as he pulled himself upright. He limped under the lean-to that passed for his home and settled against the wall, letting the sound roll over him.

Back in the Black Temple the Illidari had created a room specifically for enjoying the rain. Every evening the monsoons of Outland thundered down into the tiered courtyards of the upper ring. The newly fledged Illidari had claimed the half-collapsed western wing, heaving out rubble and chasing off the servants. That was their haven, lined with cushions and quilts and silk drapes stolen from the Den. Often he had rested there after his training, surrounded by teapots brewing on low tables. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been warm, truly warm. The sundering of the Temple had snuffed out the spark of joy that had dared take root in his chest. 

No matter. He would endure. He would outlast, and remember, and tell the truth of his master and his companions to passing travelers. The forest was a place of silence, of night elves burying their shame.

No more. No more.

It was no scent or sound that roused him from his torpor, but a feeling. The birds were quiet. The air itself had gone still.

He was well again. Such was Lord Illidan’s blessing, that pain healed the very wounds it sprang from. He twisted and kicked the lean-to, sending it tumbling onto the assassin.

The shapeshifter demons were cunning to take the shape of his lost hunter-siblings. He could almost have believed that Sevis stood before him, yowling as he cut his way free of the tarp. 

“He was taller than that, you wretched monster.”

They even had even mimicked his expression of outrage. The one wearing Calia’s face stepped forwards. They had improved their disguises for he couldn’t see their true form beneath. 

“Feronas, we have all returned. Come, see my marks.”

They had even copied the scent correctly. He wavered. Could it truly be?

The shadows warped strangely behind them and a- a-

No. How dare they pretend to wear Lord Illidan’s face? How dare-

He snarled, ducked under the not-Calia’s outstretched arm and hurled himself at the pretender. 

“You’ll regret approaching me,” he told it. The not-Illidan had the nerve to laugh. It sounded the same, just the same. It fought almost as well as Lord Illidan, stepping back out of range of his glaives and snatching his ankle from under him with the claw on the very tip of his wing. 

“Fierce as ever, Feronas. You still forget to watch your feet.”

He scrabbled upright. That had always being his weakness, even from the early days. The other not-Illidari weren’t attacking him. The not-Calia had covered her mouth with her hands as she always did when alarmed. Why weren’t they attacking? Shapeshifters always attacked en masse. He flipped his wings uncertainly, baring the toxic barbs at them in warning.

“I saw you dead,” he said, turning back to the not-Illidan. “I saw your body.”

“Death cannot hold me.” It flexed its wings. “Are you prepared for the final assault on the Legion?”

Feronas felt himself grow faint. His glaives splashed into the water.

It was them. It was truly-

Lord Illidan turned to Calia.

“Catch him.”

It was them, he thought weakly. He had remembered, and they remembered him.

Sevis immediately started to fuss, draping his cloak across him, while Calia bemoaned how thin he’d gotten and stretched out her wing to shield them from the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work, check out the rest of my writing and find me at https://happyorogeny.tumblr.com/writing


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